


Redemption

by silverbook



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, CW: vague suicidal thoughts and ideation, Gen, Not Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Season 2 Compliant, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 22:58:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16376639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverbook/pseuds/silverbook
Summary: “you devoted your entire life to a deranged narcissist who never gave a damn about anyone, and now he's dead. You've got the rest of your life to wrestle with the question - who are you without him?”





	Redemption

**Author's Note:**

> _Lyrics from Paramore-‘Decode’_
> 
> Notes:  
> This is a Pre-Ward/Fitz Season 2 AU (Season 2 Episode 2 compliant then divergent) Jemma didn’t leave. Ward still can’t talk. Hand waved Skye/Ward relationship in canon to just a mild crush, a kiss or two, but no declaration of relationship.
> 
> _Warnings: vaguely suicidal thoughts and ideation from both Ward and Fitz at points._
> 
> Please note when commenting that I haven’t watched past Season 2 Episode 2 (I knew I wouldn't be able to finish this fic if I kept going), so please no spoilers.

_How can I decide what's right  
When you're clouding up my mind?_

Garrett was gone. His world had imploded. May had left him with a fractured larynx in their fight, and no-one had exactly been in a hurry to give him medical attention. There had been many other things to deal with, and other people had been more seriously injured than he. He had been the cause of many of these injuries- indirectly or otherwise. Luck had been on his side in a way- his airway had not been compromised-and not in others. Perhaps if it had been compromised he might have been given medical attention in time to save his damaged vocal cords. Or maybe not, who knows, maybe they would have left him there struggling to breathe and eventually dying. One less HYDRA agent to worry about. He wouldn’t have blamed them. In a way it would have been easier, for him. He wouldn’t be stuck in this cell, this blank and empty 4x4 cube, with only his thoughts for company, and not even his own voice to break the silence. His world view crumbling in his hands, and all around him, as he tried to make sense of who he was without Garrett, without his mission pressing him forward. 

Coulson’s voice floated through his head: 

> _“you devoted your entire life to a deranged narcissist who never gave a damn about anyone, and now he's dead. You've got the rest of your life to wrestle with the question - who are you without him?”*_

Had it even been _his_ mission, or just Garret’s? Garret had shaped who he was, who he had become. But so had the team, in their own way. They had shaped who Grant Ward, the persona he had donned for the Bus, had developed into. Perhaps that Ward was who he really wanted to be, but didn’t dare to. But he had thrown all of that away, for a madman he had believed for most of his life, the only one he had believed in- who he had thought had believed in him. 

_I can’t win your losing fight_

It was lonely in his cell. Coulson came to visit every second day or so, when he was on the base. May had visited twice. Skye had appeared a couple of times to question him. She was stiff and oddly formal with him; it seemed to be her way of dealing with him. She never came without a purpose. Jemma had been there once when he awoke, sitting there staring at him with red eyes. She had screamed at him through the glass, and all he could think was that he was so glad to see her alive. And of course, various agents came to drop off meals every day, and escort him to the showers. 

He never knew any of them; Coulson was obviously choosing them carefully. Not that it mattered. They had all known someone who was now dead because of HYDRA, because of him. There was the occasional insult or threat through the glass. Once one of the agents escorting him to the showers had thrown a punch that had knocked him into the corridor wall, and left him with a black eye. Melinda May had come on her second visit soon after and noticed, he could tell, though she hadn’t said anything. That agent had never appeared again, much to his surprise. It was more than he deserved.

He didn't normally miss his voice. In a way he felt like his voice was part of the old Ward, that all he could say was lies and manipulations. Nothing he could say was the real him. Without his voice he couldn’t hide behind who he used to be, he couldn't deflect. It meant he had to look at who he was inside, without his cover, what he used to present to the world. Some days he felt relieved he couldn't speak. 

This was not one of those days. As he stared at Jemma’s red-rimmed eyes, all he wanted to do was speak one word, one question. He wanted to know one thing. Wanted to know so badly that his actions hadn't cost him a person he hadn't realised he valued so much until he was faced with that pivotal choice. One person that some part of him had begun, without his knowledge or consent, to see as a friend.

He knew Fitz was alive; Coulson had said so, after his capture:

> _“Your attempt to cross off Fitz and Simmons failed, but Fitz may never be the same again.”*_

He had clung to that scrap of information, but no more had been given to him since. He didn’t know if Fitz was hurt, injured, in a coma, dying… gone. He had no way to ask, and no right to ask this grief-stricken woman he had hurt so badly, no way to get the information he desperately needed to know. To know if atonement was possible in some small way, or if the faint fleeting hope has disappeared along with Fitz’s breath.

_How did we get here?  
When I used to know you so well_

The words got stuck for Fitz nowadays. They came slowly, or weren’t what he meant, or didn't come at all. He should be grateful to be alive, alive to struggle. Jemma had been saved, and that was all he had wanted, trapped down there in that box. The rest of the team was safe and together. They were rebuilding S.H.I.E.L.D. as best they could; HYDRA hadn’t won, not completely, but neither had S.H.I.E.L.D. lost, not completely. He was alive, and all he had lost was some of his words.

But they were there, in his head. He just couldn't get them out. So he hadn’t lost them, he had just lost the ability to express them, and somehow that was worse. Because, he was aware, all the time, of what he had lost, what he couldn't do anymore. 

The words got stuck nowadays, and the silences around him grew, and grew. 

_But you won’t take away my pride_

He could feel Jemma hovering to the left of him nervously. Jemma was always nervous around him these days, everyone was, but some were better at hiding it than others. Jemma was not good at hiding it.

“What is it, Jemma?” he tried not to snap. Her constant hovering was getting on his nerves: she had been practically shadowing him around the lab for the last hour. It made his hands tremble more, which he tried to hide. Which exacerbated the problem, and round and round in circles it went.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see her bite her lip.

“Why don’t you come over to this table over here?” She suggested false brightly, “I- want your opinion on the results I ran on the Deathlok chemicals.”

“I looked at those this morning.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” She shifted on her feet, “Can you look at them again? Please?”

Fitz frowned and eyed her suspiciously. Jemma’s behaviour around him recently may have been odd, and uncomfortable, but this was out of the ordinary in a different way. He heard Jemma’s phone buzz in her pocket. Again. She moved to check it, then stopped and tried to look casual. 

“Out with it. You’re, you’re holding, no,” he clenched his teeth together, frustrated. “Secret. What?” he managed to cobble together, and took a deep breath to clear the blockage, and try to reset.

She was uneasy, he could tell, but not about him this time. 

“Will you move over here, if I tell you?” she tried to bargain. She couldn’t hide that she kept glancing over to the bay doors, perhaps unconsciously. People were streaming in and out, as they packed the Bus for the move to the new base. They weren’t bothering him too badly today- the glass wall of the lab gave him some sense of security, and he knew May was out there somewhere, supervising.

“It’s okay, Jemma. I can deal with the people,” he reassured her, “Today is a good day.” She didn't match his smile with one of her own, jittering her leg nervously.

“They’re moving Ward on board.” She blurted out, and stopped to gauge his reaction.

He had to take a deep breath to process that information, and then another before he could speak again. The doctor he had seen about strengthening the damaged pathways between his brain and vocal cords had told him that tension and stress blocked. Whilst he couldn't repair those pathways, they were gone forever, he could do things to keep what was left open, and encourage new pathways to form. Being tense and frustrated inhibited what was left, which of course increased the stress and frustration, and created a vicious circle. He had been given a variety of exercises and tips on how to manage and calm himself when he started to go round in circles. He concentrated on getting out one word.

“Why?” 

“They’re moving him to the new base; Coulson doesn't trust anyone but himself and May to transport him, and everyone else is going by road, which Coulson thinks will be more vulnerable to attack and HYDRA might try to get him back, to stop us getting any more information out of him, and Coulson doesn't want to risk it, so he is travelling with us. Here. On the Bus. In a holding cell of course,” she hastened to assure him, “But, he will be coming through the bay in a minute or so, and we didn’t want you to have to see him. We were going to tell you he was on board, of course, just… afterwards.” Jemma finally came to a rambling stop, and looked at him, pleading for him to understand.

Jemma’s phone beeped. 

“That’s him now, isn't it?” 

She nodded.

Fitz took a deep breath, and then moved to look out of the glass wall separating the lab from the bay. Jemma followed behind, babbling as she continued trying to convince him to move.

“Jemma, I have to do this. For him, and for me. Because I am not scared.” He scowled determinedly at the glass.

He could see a path clearing outside.

May came first, clearing the way through the bustling agents. Ward was escorted between two agents, in handcuffs, and Skye hovering over them. She glanced up and saw Fitz and Jemma, and winced. She started communicating frantically with gestures and facial expressions to Jemma beside him- no doubt Skye was demanding an explanation- but Fitz couldn't take his eyes off Ward. His head was down, and he was subdued- that was the only word for it. The two agents were not exactly escorting him gently, and May and Skye were only concerned with keeping the increasingly hostile-looking crowd at bay. There was a strange feeling in Fitz’s stomach as he saw the man who had caused him so much pain for the first time since he had pressed that button. It wasn’t anger, though he had expected as such, but nor was it pity. Ward had made the choices he had, no one had forced him to push that button. But looking at the subdued shape of Ward, and the tension coming off the gathered agents, it didn't feel right. 

The party cleared the vehicle area and passed by the lab as they headed for the staircase to the upper levels. Ward lifted his head as they approached the stairs, and a look of shock crossed his features as he spotted them staring out. He mouthed Fitz’s name slowly, and something like relief was present, as he made eye contact. The agent on the left pulled him roughly away and up the stairs, but Fitz remained looking after the group for a while, as the crowd gradually dispersed back to their tasks. 

“Fitz. Fitz. Fitz, are you alright?”

“Fine.”

He turned back to his work, and tried not to think about the look on Ward’s face when their eyes met.

_Do you see what we’ve done?_

Coulson received word from the advance scouts when they were nearly at the new base that HYDRA had discovered the location and were occupying it for an ambush. He disappeared into the cockpit with Melinda, and Skye- who was observing in her role as May’s protégée- to discuss plans of attack and what to do next. Orders were given to those on the road to disperse and head for safehouses.

None of the safehouses were equipped to hold prisoners, especially long-term, so Ward was to be kept in the interrogation room on the bus. Jemma and Fitz learnt this piece of information when Skye stormed out the cockpit in a high temper and came to rant in the lab. Jemma had glanced anxiously at Fitz when she heard, but Fitz found he didn't care that Ward was still on board. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him since he had arrived, and no one was going to let Fitz get near him. 

“And May’s ordered me to get the camp bed for his cell, and inspect it for anything he could use beforehand. Can't he just sleep on the floor?” Skye ranted.

“Common human decency?” Jemma tried, wincing as Skye turned her glare on her. Fitz was hovering near some delicate equipment, in an attempt to protect it. 

“Look, Skye, I don’t like it anymore than you do, but we’re not them. We can’t sink to their level, or we’re no better than them. That means a bed, and water, food, and so on.”

Skye rounded on Fitz, “What do you think, Fitz? He hurt you the most. Do you think he deserves a bed?”

“Skye!” Jemma cried.

Fitz meet Skye’s eyes.

“No one deserves the floor.” He managed.

_How did we get here?  
Well, I think I know_

At some point in the days that had all began to blur together like the walls of his cell, the door opened outside the usual meal times, to reveal May standing there.

“Can I trust you to behave yourself if I take you to the cargo bay?”

Confused, but more than happy to get out of these four walls, whatever the destination, or intention; Ward gets up cautiously, and holds his hands out together. May cuffs him, and they proceed down to the cargo bay. He’s unsure if this is a walk to his end, or a new interrogation tactic, but he’s willing to go along with anything if it means he gets out of that room.

“I thought we could spar.” May remarks, when they reach the place in the cargo bay they had set up as a training area. It's unchanged since the last time he was here- the mats on the ground delineating out the space; the small fridge with water in the corner, towels hanging on the wall; and the work-out regime he drew up for Skye is still stuck there above the fridge. They’ve never stored weapons here; bringing their own personal ones from the armoury in the laboratory, or from their quarters. He glances at the laboratory at the other end, but it’s empty. He braces himself, but May merely unlocks and deactivates the cuffs, and starts warming up. Keeping a wary eye on her, Ward shakes his wrists out, and starts warming up himself. He’s kept up with as much of his exercise regiment as he can in the small area he has-there’s nothing else to fill his hours these days-but he hasn't sparred with anyone for months. The routine is familiar- May and he often used each other as sparring partners back then, sometimes Coulson too. He spent a lot of time down here with Skye, but she wasn’t skilled enough then to provide him with the practise he needed. 

Ward stays on the defensive for the first part of the bout, only defending himself from May’s blows. The mood is not overly aggressive, not towards him at any rate. He could sense May’s frustration underneath her calm exterior as she dealt out blow after blow. She was keeping to the standard training drills that they had both learnt at S.H.I.E.L.D, and whilst sparring with him, was not trying to catch him out, or injure him. As the minutes passed, and he stopped expecting an imminent blow to incapacitate him, he began to respond to the drills, and take his part, rather than just defending himself. He was careful still to make no move that could be misinterpreted by May, but the release of the familiar patterns, the endorphins of the exercise, gave him a sense of calm amongst all the turmoil inside him that had raged there for the last two months. 

When they had finished, May escorted him to shower, and then back to his imprisonment. Body still buzzing with the leftover endorphins, and feeling pleasantly warm, relaxed, albeit puzzled and sore, Ward fell down on his bed, and slept deeply again. 

_Well, I will figure this one out  
On my own_

They had been flying at random for over two weeks, still baseless, when Coulson made a decision to stop and have a day off the Bus. Everyone had been getting a little cooped up-constantly flying from place to place, but never stopping. Those others travelling on the road had scattered to the various safehouses that had not been compromised- many of those actually personally acquired by the remaining agents in their past. However, there was nowhere with the capacity to host the Bus, and so they had just kept circling. May was starting to look slightly worn, for her, taking long shifts to keep the Bus flying, trying to keep them out of commercial airspace, planning ahead- looking for sources and safe places to refuel. And of course avoiding those after them, not just HYDRA, but the military. There was still an ongoing search for S.H.I.E.L.D., their team in particular, so Coulson had directed May to find a suitable deserted area for them. She had found such a place halfway up a small mountain that was inaccessible to climbers due to its sheer cliffs, and its locality was deserted. 

Ward stepped outside the Bus for the first time since his arrival, and marvelled at the feel of the sun on his skin. It had been evening when he had been loaded onto the Bus, and he had been in that cell in the previous base for about two months by his rough approximation. It was a lovely clear day, with a few wispy, and shockingly white, clouds dotted here and there in the sky. The sky was so blue it hurt his eyes to look at it. The Bus wasn’t exactly monochrome, but there wasn’t much in the way of bright colours, particularly in his confinement.

The rest of the team was already outside and scattered around the clearing. Jemma and Fitz appeared to be setting up a picnic blanket, whilst Skye was practising hand to hand with Coulson. Melinda was beside him, having released him from his cell, and placed a monitoring bracelet on him along with the usual cuffs, that would shock him if he ventured more than 15 metres from the Bus. 

After another reminder that she will be keeping an eye on him, she leaves him to observe Coulson and Skye sparring, and he finds a not too far off spot where he can lie down under a tree. The grass was cool and crisp beneath his fingers, and the feel of it had loosened something in his chest. The sounds of the others are just audible, and if he closes his eyes, he can pretend he is back before the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. happened, and it’s just another day with what was once his team. But the weight of the monitoring bracelet around his ankle is a reminder of the fact that everything had fallen apart, and that he cannot leave. To be honest he didn't know where he would go anyway. So for the moment he found himself somewhat content to soak in the sunshine, however temporary this moment of peace might be. 

After a while Ward hears someone approaching him, and isn’t that surprised to see Coulson settling himself nearby, his back to the tree that Ward was currently sheltering under; the sunlight filtering through the leaves, and dappling on him and the grass. He makes no acknowledgement of Coulson’s presence, but continues to stare up at the clouds which pass by overhead, briefly blocking the rays of sun from his eyes. Coulson makes no attempt to talk to him for quite some time, and when he finally does speak Ward finds muscles he hadn't realised were tensed, relax.

“As you know it was never our intention to keep you on the Bus this long. But fate works in mysterious ways-perhaps you can take this time to reflect-”

Ward snorted internally, _reflect_ , that’s all he has been able to do. There is even less to occupy himself with here then in his previous cell.

“-not about what you’ve done, and the why and reasons behind. No doubt you’ve already done so. I’m asking you to reflect about which side you want to find yourself on. Your information you have given us has been helpful, and anything more you can give us as well will be too. But I am sure you have been thinking about what will happen to you when your information runs out, or is no longer up to date.”

Coulson continued in his calm, steady voice, not giving any indication or hints as to any emotion that might colour his words. But his next sentence held possibly a touch of gentleness in it. Or perhaps that was Ward’s wistful thinking. 

“What happens afterwards is entirely up to you. You need to start thinking about your future, and what you would like to do. Which side you want to to come down on in the end now, Ward?”

Ward brought his cuffed hands down from above his head, so that his right arm covered his eyes. Ostensibly to shield them from the sun, which had just emerged from behind some cloud cover, but really to hide his expression from Coulson, as his mind whirled. He had thought that HYDRA was his only option, apart from languishing away in a S.H.I.E.L.D. cell until he outlived his usefulness. He’d burnt all his bridges at S.H.I.E.L.D., or so he thought, but here was Coulson implying that that might not be the case. 

And he was coming to truly regret his past actions and decisions. But he didn't know how to communicate that. Even if he had been able to speak, he didn't think he would have been able to figure out any better how to communicate that he was truly coming around to his mistakes, and not just playing them again. 

The silence stretches out unbroken for several long moments, before Coulson unexpectedly speaks again, “I could teach you sign language, if you were willing to learn.”

The idea of regaining some form of communication is a tempting one, and the offer a surprising one, but Ward remains silent, and gives no response. There’s too much to think about. Coulson remains next to him for a while, before he reiterates for Ward think about it, and heads back to the team.

_But you think that I can’t see_

Fitz glanced over at the supine figure of Ward, on the ground underneath a tree, far off enough that he was not within hearing distance of them, but close enough that they wouldn’t be unaware of his presence. Coulson had been reclining against the tree itself last time he’d looked over, and conversing seriously with Ward. Or rather, talking seriously to Ward. Ward was not responding-couldn't respond. In different ways that was something both he and Ward struggled with these days. Some days Fitz thought there was some kind of irony, or karma, in the fact that the person who was responsible for his loss of words, had ended up losing his own completely. Other days he just raged internally, or silently, at the world, the universe, at the unfairness of it all. 

Now Ward was reposing alone, under the tree, arms flung over his head. From this distance the cuffs holding his wrists together are invisible.

_The truth is hiding in your eyes  
And it’s hanging on your tongue_

A few days after the excursion outside, Ward accepts Coulson’s offer. He’s desperate for a way to communicate, and somewhere deep inside him a small part of him is hoping Coulson’s offer is true and genuine- and that he didn't just dream it up. Fall asleep in the sun and imagine it all. If Coulson means what he says, Ward needs to prove he is willing to change, and he also needs a way to communicate it.

Learning sign language gives Ward another level of freedom. No-one had been inclined to give him pen or paper, and even less inclined to hand him anything he could type on, as such devices provided access to other things. Up until now the only attempts to communicate with him had been interrogations, questionings, and when they needed information from him about HYDRA. Bar of course the occasional barrage of abuse, or rant at him, that nearly every member of the team had gone through with him at least once at some point since his betrayal and capture, but they don't expect or need him to respond to that. No need to defend himself, not that he thought he could. The smooth-talking super-spy Grant Ward is gone, and not just because his ability to talk is gone.

Coulson gives him lessons when he has time, but with his now multiple responsibilities spare time for him must be short and far between, and Ward doesn’t imagine he spends it all with him. But he leaves him with lists to memorise by himself. In contrast, Ward has nothing but spare time and nothing to do with it. So the endless lists of vocabulary to memorise provide a welcome distraction.

The back of each piece of paper quickly becomes covered with questions and requests for clarifications when Coulson is actually there. He’s still not allowed to retain the pen when Coulson isn’t there. Both of them know well what damage a pen can do in the right- or wrong- hands, or even how useful one can be. But he’s now allowed paper, which he is pathetically beyond grateful for, and even more grateful for this way to communicate, and his growing skills in this other new way. And this tentative new, not trust, but opportunity to prove himself worthy of trust once again.

{How do you know sign language, sir?} Ward writes one day under a recent note asking for clarification about the uses of the sign for ‘to hold’. He doesn’t bother to turn the paper around; like most people on the Bus, Coulson can read upside down. S.H.I.E.L.D. offered a variety of language courses, and required you to take at least three, but, apart from standard military hand signals, and the S.H.I.E.L.D.-developed hand signals, sign language was not one of the available options.

“I worked closely with an agent who was partially deaf during my days as a strike team handler. It proved prudent to learn for ease of communication.” Coulson explains succinctly.

Ward takes this in. Coulson, naturally, is hard to read, not giving anything away. And despite the miniscule softening in his attitude towards Ward he still holds on to his professional mask in these lessons, and any visits to Ward. Part of Ward aches remembering the days when Coulson didn’t wear that mask around him. But Ward thinks he might detect a hint of fondness in his tone. Not directed at him, but at whomever he is is talking about. 

After Coulson leaves, Ward lies down on the bed and stares up the ceiling. He doesn't know what to do. He regrets his previous actions, true. He now has a way to communicate this regret, true. But who would believe him-who would listen-, and what would be the point? He can't undo what he did; he can’t fix it. No one will ever trust him again. What good would will confessing his guilt do? What good can he ever do in the world again? What use is he?

_No, not this time_

Jemma and Fitz are working together, tinkering with the comms units they used in the field. In the absence of any urgent projects or problem-solving they had to do right this minute, they were making the most of the time available to do a full overhaul of their equipment. Much of it had been damaged in the battle, and all of it had taken hard wear over the last year or so. 

Fitz is glad of the basic simple tasks he could, or should be able to, do by rote. With no pressure behind them, it allowed him to practise his fine motor skills in peace and regain some of his old confidence. The mindless tasks of cleaning the delicate equipment and running routine tests made him feel more like himself than he has done in weeks. The quiet has also helped his brain to start sparking off ideas for how to improve various pieces, and he has been able to communicate these with relative ease to Jemma. 

Today they are working on the field comms when the peaceful atmosphere is shattered by a gunshot from upstairs, followed immediately by more, and some shouting. They can hear Skye yelling insults, and the phrase “HYDRA snakes” features prominently, so they get the gist of the situation fairly quickly. Jemma’s stuck out in the open of the car bay, unable to reach the relative safety of the lab without passing in front of the stairs, and be in full view of those upstairs-they had been testing the effect of their most recent update at short range- and she quickly slips the comm unit off and down the front of her top, and mouths to Fitz to hide, before slowly beginning to back away to the rear of the car port.

Fitz pockets his own unit, feeling his breath starting to come more quickly, and he ducks behind his lab bench, snagging his tablet on the way. From there he crawls his way to the spare parts cupboard at the back of the lab. He can hear people starting to come down the stairs now, and he closes the door behind him before entering the secret compartment at the back of the cupboard. He prays for Jemma’s safety for all he was worth, as he crouches in the rather small space, but the fact is he knows there are no hidden compartments in the carport area. 

_(My thoughts you can't decode)_

Ward’s cell was soundproof, so the first he knew of the ensuing conflict on the Bus was when his cell door clicks open and he sees Jemma Simmons get pushed through, hands above her head, and a gun to her back. He stood up slowly, taking in the situation, as a black-clad man is revealed holding the gun, as he follows Jemma in. There’s a red HYDRA badge on his chest. Ward’s brain goes into overdrive; obviously they are here for him, but for what purpose is unclear.

There are only two options: termination, or rescue. He’s not sure rescue would be any better- not only is he no longer sure he wants to return to the fold, but no doubt any “rescue” will involve torture and interrogation about what he’s told S.H.I.E.L.D., possibly followed by termination anyway. He’s of no use to them as double agent anymore- his cover has been thoroughly blown, and everyone knows who he is. 

He can see the resignation in Jemma’s face as she glances at him, and something settles inside him; some final decision he had been unconsciously still debating is resolved.

“Thanks, girlie,” the man smirks, “You’ve been very cooperative. I won’t kill you just yet.” He gestures for her to move further into the room.

Jemma is pale, but calm. The past year has turned her from the nervous scientist with little to no on-field experience, to someone confident in her abilities, able to keep her head and be composed in situations such as this, but her strengths still lie in the lab not the field. He doesn’t dare to pay too much attention to her. If he’s going to make this work, he needs to sell it, and he doesn’t have his words to talk himself out this time. He spreads his arms out and smiles, like the old Grant Ward, at the HYDRA agent; trying to convey welcome. Hoping desperately that they don’t just shoot him then and there. 

“Grant Ward.” The man starts to frown at his lack of vocal response, and Ward quickly gestures to his throat with a grimace. 

“What’s wrong with him?” He demands of Jemma.

“A fractured larynx. He can't talk.” She says quickly, eyeing the gun. He frowns and swings back to Ward, still keeping his gun trained on her. 

“Unfortunate.” Ward swallows, but stands fast. “Still, come along. I’m sure we can find something useful out.”

Ward walks forward confidently, but slowly, toward him. 

“No gun for you, sorry.” He says casually, as Ward reaches him. Ward shrugs, and then punches him in the face, finally close enough. He follows this up with a punch to the gut, and snatches the gun, before knocking him out with a blow to the temple with the handle. The man slumps unconscious to the floor, and Jemma stares at him in shock. He desperately wants to ask about the status of everyone else, but he can’t. He settles for offering the gun to her, in an attempt to confirm his intentions. That he’s not just using this opportunity to make a break for it by himself, but is actively offering his assistance. She gapes at him for a split second, then shakes her head, and visibly pulls herself together. 

“Do _not_ make me regret trusting you, Ward.” She gestures for him to retain the gun. She then fishes around in her bra, and pulls out what looks like one of their comms units and hooks it over her ear. She taps out the Morse code for “safe”, pauses for five seconds, and then repeats the sequence. 

Ward is mildly impressed, and it probably shows on his face. Jemma sags in relief at what he assumes is a reply coming through.

“Fitz?” she whispers, and Ward’s heart leaps in his own relief, “Oh, thank god. Where are you?” She pauses for his response, and Ward strains to hear, despite the knowledge that it would be impossible. 

“I’m fine, they wanted me to let them into Ward’s cell. Only one escorted me, and Ward knocked him out. They have Coulson and Skye in the lounge- I saw them as we passed.”

Jemma’s tapping gives Ward an idea- he gets her attention, and taps out M.A.Y. softly on the door. Light dawns in her eyes.

“Trapped in the cockpit with two of them.” She answers, and then, “Ward was asking about May,” clearly explaining to Fitz.

“You think we should get her first?” she asks him, catching on.

Ward nods. He taps out W.E.A.P.O.N.S. She nods.

“Fitz is in the panic room in the lab.” She switches to addressing Fitz, and starts asking him about what he has access to. Ward listens intently, and feels purpose fill him for the first time since Garrett’s death. He interjects when he can with single words in Morse code to convey his ideas, and ask questions, and slowly their plan comes together. 

Jemma lets Ward take point, after a gesticulated argument on his side, interspersed with emphatic tapped out words, when gestures failed him. He hasn’t felt so alive in a long time, and now his decision has been made. He knows what side he comes down on, and all he has to do is prove it. And he wants to prove it, prove himself to his old team again. He can scarcely hope to return to his old place again, to regain their old trust, not after he broke it so traumatically the first time. But perhaps he can make a new place for himself, one of his own, for the Grant Ward he wants to become. A place where he can do some good, even if not truly part of the team. 

They have arranged to meet up with Fitz in a storage room up near the cockpit. Ward’s heart is hammering like it’s his first year out as he creeps down the corridor in the lead- they have little to no information about how many people are on board. Their best chance is to get to May as quickly as possible, and then take the lounge before anyone realises that no one has come back with Ward, or that the cockpit is no longer under their control. Who knows what the HYDRA agent now trussed up in Ward’s cell’s orders were. If they’re lucky, his obvious intentions towards Jemma had been noticed and approved of, giving them more time before someone would come to check on him. Depraved as that is, they can only hope that was the case. 

They meet no one in the corridors- a good sign. It is possible that apart from the two in the cockpit, all the rest occupying the Bus are in the lounge. If Jemma managed to sell that Fitz was not with them due to his injuries, as she informed Ward she tried to do, there is no reason for them to be searching the Bus. They reach the door to the storage area they have arranged to meet Fitz at, and Ward motions for Jemma to signal him on the comms. She taps out the prearranged signal- Ward made them chose an alternative signal as well in case of being captured and compromised, and Jemma agreed after, blushing but determined, arguing to set up a ‘Ward is compromised’ signal as well, which she refused to let him know. He conceded the point without qualm, and with some amount of pride.

_There is something  
I see in you_

Fitz had sagged with relief when Jemma’s signal had come through the comms. When he heard that Ward had come to her aid, he didn’t know how to react. Some part of him, the part others would say was too naïve, could only hope there was still some of the Ward from before that still existed in there somewhere. The same part of Ward that had jumped off the Bus to catch Jemma. Other voices in his head, that sounded like May and Skye, scolded him for falling for the act, said that this was part of a plot or plan to gain their trust and then betray them again. Fitz told both parts to shut up and go away. The only thing he could really do in this situation was take it on faith Ward wasn’t playing them, and hope that if he was they could deal with it later. 

So, with shaking hands, he gathered all that could be useful from the lab, and made his way cautiously through the corridors to the arranged meeting point. When Jemma’s signal comes through the comms, free of any alteration to signal capture by HYDRA or betrayal by Ward, he pushes open the door and hugs her fiercely. 

Afterwards he eyes off Ward, and abruptly remembers this is the first time they’ve been in close proximity since that fateful day. There’s no time for them to hash anything out- something that’s hardly possible for either of them to do verbally anyway. But Fitz meets Ward’s eyes steadily, head cocked up with false bravado. Ward, still standing guard whilst they reunited, gun held ready in his hands, nods shortly at him, and then looks away. He’s pale from the prolonged captivity, Fitz notices randomly. 

Reunion over, they make their way stealthily through the corridors again, and up to surround the cockpit. Fitz is armed with a stunner/tazer combination he grabbed from the lab, and so is Jemma; Ward has the gun he acquired. Fitz also has a concealed tranquiliser gun neither Ward nor Jemma know about, just in case-though if it all goes wrong, he doubts he’ll have a chance to use it.

Lost in thought, Fitz pitches forward as he steps off the ladder at the top-Ward catches Fitz’s elbow gently as he stumbles, to steady him, and then lets go abruptly, moving back to a ‘safe’ distance.

Of course, when they reach the cockpit, May steps out herself to greet them, having already subdued the two men set to guard her.

_But you think that I can’t see  
What kind of man you are_

With May alongside they scout out the lounge, make a plan, and recapture it, disabling the remaining three HYDRA agents with ease. Of all of them, Skye is worst off, with their efforts seemingly having been concentrated on torturing her, in an attempt to get information out of Coulson. Ward can see she has a black eye, and some dislocated fingers, on top of widespread heavy bruising, and no doubt at least bruised, if not cracked or broken ribs.

May motions for Ward to follow her after the fighting is concluded, and they take care of the three agents bound on the floor, taking them to the free cell next to Ward’s. They then proceed to the cockpit and retrieve the two unconscious men there, taking them to join the man who brought Jemma to Ward in Ward’s cell, after May checks the controls and autopilot. The work is done quickly and quietly; they both fall easily into the rhythm of their shared training, and time working together, but the silence is not particularly comfortable-though no longer as hostile as it has been when in May’s company previously. He has the impression she is reserving judgement, and he keeps his head down as he works.

Both cells on the Bus are now occupied, and Ward wonders what they will do with him tonight, if they keep both cells as they are. When they walk back into the lounge, it is evident that this thought has also occurred to others on the Bus, as they walk into the middle of Skye ranting, face blazing red with fury, facing off against Jemma, who had been treating her injuries when they left. Ward freezes as it becomes apparent what they are arguing about. He doesn't want to hear this, but he can’t leave. There may have been a temporary truce during this incident, but he cannot forget he is still their prisoner, however easy it had been to slip into old patterns and habits around these people. Any attempt to wander off alone, and leave the company, or rather _supervision_ of the others will no doubt be stopped quickly, and looked upon with suspicion. Now he has made his resolution to commit to this new path, that is the last thing he wants. A part of him also feels he deserves to hear the horrible things that will be said about him. It’s not as if they aren’t true.

“We can’t put him in there with them, Skye.” Jemma protests.

“Why not? He’s one of them, isn't he?” she retorts.

Ward is touched by Jemma’s consideration of him, but the harshness of Skye’s words cuts through him. Even when he had been, he’d never really considered himself HYDRA. He was following Garrett, not them. Garrett didn't consider himself HYDRA, only affiliating with them, allied with them, so Ward, as with all his thoughts and actions, mirrored him. During his isolation at the S.H.I.E.L.D. base, before the move to the Bus, he’d come to realise that though he’d held himself aside from, and above, HYDRA, it didn't change the fact that they had been working together, towards the same goals, no matter that he’d thought they had different ideals. He’d been disgusted with himself at the realisation at the time, but hearing it again now, from someone else, someone who used to look up to him, sickened him once more.

Even though he intended to change, even though he’d renounced what he’d done, even if he managed to communicate this to them, they would never see him past this stain. That no matter how misguided he’d been when he’d thought himself separate from them at the time, they’d never think of him as anything else.

He pressed himself into a far corner as the argument continued, trying to make himself as unobtrusive as possible. Coulson had now stepped in to outline to Skye the realities of the situation. He felt sick, vaguely nauseous, coming down from the adrenaline rush of the action. He feels like all the walls he used to surround himself with were no longer able to be sustained. 

After months of isolation, little company, and of facial expressions being his only method of communication, he is tired, and he doesn’t want to put on his old masks, to be the person he has now vowed to denounce. But it is disconcerting to feel like every emotion is now being played out on his face in high definition. As Skye continues to shout, he presses himself further into his corner. His mouth is dry, and his hands are minutely trembling behind his back. For the first time in years he is reminded vividly of cowering in a corner as his parents screamed vitriol at each other. Lost in the memories he had tightly locked away many years ago, he starts violently as something cold is pressed against his arm. When he opens his eyes that he hadn’t realised were closed, Fitz is there to the side of him, offering a bottle of water, condensation cooling on the outside. He can only stare, and then mutely accept it, with an attempt at a grimaced smile of thanks, and bewilderment in his heart. And Fitz stays there next to him, a solid comforting puzzling presence, as the argument continues, until Coulson orders May to escort him to somewhere secure temporarily. 

_We’ve gone and made such fools of ourselves_

Ward sits in his old room again- it has been stripped bare of all his possessions, not that there were many, and even less that hadn’t been S.H.I.E.L.D. equipment. Any personal knick knacks were only brought on anyway as part of his cover- he had been taught to have little to no material attachments. It wasn’t worth it when they inevitably had to be left behind-spies travel light- or got broken as punishment. Really the only difference between this and his old cell, apart from the slightly better pillow, was the fact that there was a window here. Four bare walls, a bed, and the door was locked. He hadn't looked out of the window; he’d only sunk down onto his old bed, and watched his hands twist around themselves.

This was it.

It was over. His brief reprieve. His momentary delusion that he could stay here, even as a prisoner. 

They would be taking the captured agents to the next base they could find, and surely one would have managed to get itself together by now. And he would be left there too- dropped off like unwanted baggage. And there he’d stay, alone in some cell, occasionally interrogated for information, until he ran out or it became out of date, and then if he hadn't already been “accidentally” offed by someone looking for revenge, who knows what would become of him. 

Resigned, he waits. Time seems to spin away, as he gazes at the door, waiting for his future to come through. When Coulson comes in, he is calmly numb, and has no idea how long it’s been.

“Skye has calmed down,” Coulson said casually. Ward looked at his hands, then stumbled through some signs.

[She not wrong]

Coulson regards him calmly. 

“Is that what you really think, or is the fact you think that a sign that you are not as like them as you fear?” 

Ward shrugged, and looked away. He felt the bed dip next to him as Coulson placed himself by his side. 

“I believe that the Ward I got to know in our time on this Bus is still in there somewhere, and I want to help you find him. Because that man has a place on this Bus. And I think your actions today have showed that you want to become that Ward again, for real.”

Ward stared at him in disbelief, and felt his fingers trembling. 

“Will you accept the challenge?”

And Ward put his head in his hands and cried for the first time since things started spinning out of control, for the first time in a long time. 

_There is something_  
_I see in you_  
_…I want it to be true_

The first place he visits once he’s allowed out of his room is the lab. Now he stands outside the door, with the piece of paper he salvaged from his lessons crumpled in his hands again. Shakily he smooths it out once more carefully, running his fingers over the paltry words he agonised over. They seem so insignificant, but they’re all he has. Leaning against the wall, he fiddles with the paper anxiously, trying to calm his breathing, and make himself go in. 

Finally, he gathers himself, turns, and knocks on the door. He doesn’t have access to anywhere but his room, the kitchen and bathroom without someone else to let him in yet. He wonders if they’ll even let him in, as a shadow flickers across the frosted glass of the door. Jemma opens the door, and looks surprised to see him there.

“Ward.” 

He can see past her to one of the workbenches where Fitz is looking up at her exclamation. So far no doors slammed in his face at least. He takes a deep breath and tries to gesture a question if he’s allowed to come in. Jemma seems to get his meaning, and glances at Fitz, in their silent communication trick, before letting him pass into the lab. He steps nervously into one of the clear spaces near the door, and paces a little, before gathering up his courage and placing the paper on the bench near him, in front of both Fitz and Jemma who have drifted closer cautiously. He wants to look away, run away, but stands his ground as they both peer down at his scribbles. 

He went through over 10 drafts, with the pen he begged from Coulson-and was finally allowed to keep- crossing out and rewriting so many words, but in the end it all sounded like excuses, meaningless platitudes, useless words. Finally, he just wrote: “I’m sorry. I don’t expect you to forgive me.” and left it at that. They both stare at the words in silence, as he tries not to fidget, feeling like he’s waiting for a sentence to be passed.

Finally, Jemma looks up.

“Ward, I can’t forgive you, not yet.” she states, and his heart sinks, despite being unsurprised. She then steps closer, and looks directly up at him. 

“However, I do want to thank you for what you did the other day.” 

Ward signs, 

[you’re welcome] 

before realising his mistake, and looking round for a pencil or pen instead. Stupidly, he hadn't brought his with him, too nervous to think ahead to the possibility of further communication. Not thinking he’d even get this far. But then Fitz’s voice repeats what he signed out loud, and he looks round in surprise. Fitz is looking at him curiously, holding his apology paper printed side up, with the signs visible. Then Fitz signs to him, 

_[You know sign language]_

and Ward is swamped with the weirdest wave of relief from the fact that he is being heard and understood.

[Learning]

He signs clumsily and quickly, in a rush to get things out, now the flood gates are open, and he has this opportunity. 

[Jemma. Least I can do. Not enough. Please tell] 

He tries to plead with his eyes to Fitz to translate for him, and he does. Jemma, whose gaze had been flicking back and forth between their hands, turns her gaze back to his face seriously. 

“No,” she says, “It’s not enough. But it’s a start.”

Ward nods in acknowledgement, meeting her eyes with his, trying to convey his sincerity. 

_[She says true.]_ Fitz signs, _[Start again. Maybe enough someday]_

Ward feels hope rise up in him, that these two people he hurt so badly are prepared to give him another chance is unbelievable. He senses the conversation has come to an end-the wounds still too raw, and the betrayal still fresh for any of them to be able to continue with this topic. And small talk isn't really in his repertoire at the moment, nor does he think it will go down well. But he doesn't want to leave, go back to his empty room. He wants to keep atoning, in some small way, keeping proving he’s starting again. He wants to stay here with these generous, kind people, who are giving him a second chance, for no good reason.

[Help?] he signs desperately, and gestures to what Fitz had abandoned when he came in.

Fitz looks at him in surprise, and considers his offer for a moment before beckoning him to the table and directing him. And, as Ward holds things in place for Fitz to solder, and Fitz stands close to him with no fear, he thinks he’s made a good start.

**Author's Note:**

> *Direct quote from Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Season 1 Episode 22 (Beginning of the End)  
> I have just started learning sign language, so I know no syntax and next to no grammar. Please forgive anything that wouldn't be possible. I went for what would progress the story along, rather than anything exactly correct.


End file.
